A Way With Words
by selizabethharrisburg
Summary: Jack discovers an abandoned and crippled five-year-old on the streets of New York. The boy, Jack discovers, is Deaf and mute. But he's never learned sign language and can't read, leaving him totally cut off from the rest of the world. Jack is determined to break down the wall blocking communication. But with everything the boy doesn't understand, it won't be easy. Deaf!Crutchie AU
1. Chapter 1

**This piece deals with the sensitive subject of language deprivation - basically, when kids are raised without any sort of language or linguistic communication. This can happen when a child is born Deaf to parents who don't bother to learn sign language, when a child is abandoned or simply ignored, or when an experiment is designed to test the results. (Luckily, this hasn't happened for several centuries, as the experiments are incredibly cruel.)**

 **When a child is raised without hearing spoken word, they will become mute; and when a child is raised without sign language, they will not know how to sign. Thus, Deaf children who are raised by parents who cannot speak sign language will be completely cut off from the worlds of the hearing and of communication. They will have no concept of language. Breaking these barriers is incredibly difficult.**

 **However, as in the case of Helen Keller - the Deaf-blind girl educated in the nineteenth century - overcoming those walls and teaching children how to understand their world and communicate fully. It's a very important mission; a difficult one, but a possible one!**

 **On that note, please enjoy the piece! Please review if you loved it, hated it, or had mixed emotions. I'm always looking to grow as a writer!**

* * *

Jack Kelly has gone through a lot in his short life - abuse and neglect high on the list - but he cannot imagine the horrors that this little boy must have suffered.

The child is currently curled in the corner, his arms around his knees and his head tucked into his lap, blocking out the world. His mess of sandy blond hair is barely visible above his shaking arms. A tiny crutch lies haphazardly by his side, totally abandoned. Jack just sits there, watching him desperately, his heart breaking every time the boy lets out a strangled gasp.

Jack wants nothing more than to be able to calm the kid down, tell him that everything's going to be all right. But there's no way he can reach out to the boy, no way any of them can. They can do nothing but let the child sit there and cry his tears of pain and fear; and it's crushing all of their hearts.

Jack met - or perhaps _found_ is a more accurate description - the boy earlier that day. He was huddling in a bleak alley, pressing himself against a crumbling brick wall and curled in on his own body to try to block out the cold. And even though Jack had promised not to let any more stray children into the Lodging House in the dead of winter, he couldn't possibly just let this boy freeze to death. He was hardly more than a baby; he would die by himself. He honestly couldn't have been more than four or five.

So Jack squatted down next to the boy and murmured a soft "Hey." The child didn't respond, not even turning his head to look at Jack. Brow furrowing, the older boy repeated himself twice to no avail, before finally reaching out to touch the boy's shoulder.

The kid jumped a mile when Jack touched him, whirling around and backing into himself defensively. It shattered Jack's heart. Swallowing the sorrow and anger that rose in the back of his throat, he managed to smile weakly at the boy. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Wetness rose in the kid's bright green eyes, and he just stared helplessly back at Jack, not responding at all. He gazed horribly into Jack's face, tears now leaving watermarks on his tiny cheeks as they dripped from his eyes. Jack swore he could see deep-rooted frustration etched on the kid's tiny face, too. Finally, after an eternity of silent staring, the boy reached up a tiny, trembling hand to touch his ear, as if to say, _I can't hear you._

 _Deaf._

The word swum instantly into Jack's mind. The boy couldn't hear him.

But even that wasn't a problem, was it? Jack's heart began to pound and a smile overtook his face as he remembered Jerry. The older newsboy had left the Lodging House the year before, taking a job as a streetsweeper. But Jerry had also been Deaf - and, consequently, all the Manhattan newsboys knew rudimentary American sign language.

Jack raised his hand to his forehead and gave the boy what looked like a small salute. _Hello._ The rest of the signs flowed smoothly from his practiced fingers. _My name is J-A-C-K._ He gave the kid a winning smile, hoping to inspire trust in him, get him to open up.

But the child's blank look didn't change. He just stared back, the confusion and vulnerability in his eyes deepening. And Jack felt his heart pang as he realized the problem.

 _You don't even know how to sign?_

The kid's blank stare was all the answer that Jack needed. He'd heard of this happening before, but had never thought any parents could be so heartbreakingly cruel. The story was always the same, and always awful: Deaf kid is born to hearing parents; hearing parents don't bother to learn how to sign; so, kid grows up totally unable to communicate and cut off from language.

The boy just kept staring, and Jack, starting helplessly back, felt like he wanted to cry.

Now, back in the Lodging House, Jack contemplates the child again, still curled up and sobbing his heart out. Getting the kid back home had been one of the hardest things of Jack's life. The boy was crippled, his left leg horribly twisted beyond use, and he couldn't even stand without his crutch. To make matters worse, the kid didn't understand what was happening as Jack shepherded him home; all he knew was that Jack, able to communicate with him only through a few sad smiles, was picking him up and dragging him through the streets to a building he'd never been before. The boy fought hard every step of the way, but Jack didn't let him escape, knowing that he had to get the boy to safety. Once they'd gotten inside the Lodging House and Jack let him go, the boy stumbled to a corner and broke down in tears.

It is hurting all of them, seeing the boy like that. And it hurts more to know that they can't talk to him or sign to him; they have no way to calm him down. The minute the boy got inside, Specs had tried to have a conversation with him, the older boy's signs deliberate and clear. But the kid just wrenched himself away and collapsed on the ground, unable to understand what Specs was trying to do.

Jack is worried sick. The kid has never had a conversation in his life. He doesn't understand the simplest words; he is completely cut off. Jack is sure he doesn't think in language; after all, he's never talked to anybody in his life. Jack isn't even sure if the kid understands the concept of words at all, if the kid understands that there's something _called_ language _._

 _Poor kid._ Jack is completely genuine when he thinks it.

The second thought comes just as naturally, but it's much more worrisome: _I have no idea how we're going to help him._ How can he possibly begin to talk to a kid who can't understand any form of language?

The newsies are getting a bit restless now, without anything they can do to help the boy. Nobody quite wants to kick him out onto the hostile streets (although there is some bitterness hanging in the air from the older boys; Jack can feel it). Yet they can't communicate with the kid; he just sits there and cries. Nobody knows how to reach out to him.

Jack is still sitting on the couch, contemplating the boy with his own eyes watering. He feels a slight pressure on the other end of the cushion, and it's Specs again, sitting down contemplatively and keeping his dark eyes fixed on the sobbing child. Jack can see an idea growing in the back of his mind.

"You tried writin' ta him?" Specs said softly. "He might be able ta read a bit."

Jack looks up, eyes brightening with optimism for the first time in half an hour. "That's a thought," he muses softly, hardly daring to hope. If this works, it'll be an incredible breakthrough. "Ya think he can?"

Specs doesn't answer for a moment, and when he does, his words are carefully measured. "I'm not sure," he says slowly, "but better to try than to not, wouldn'tcha say?"

It makes sense, at least. Jack knows that he shouldn't allow himself to hope so much, but hopeful he is. He has one more shot to have a conversation with this child; he _has_ to try.

Jack stands, taking the paper and the pencil that Specs offers him. He makes his cautious way back over to the kid, trying not to startle him, knowing all too well how badly that can end.

Jack slowly squats next to the sobbing child. The boy doesn't register his presence until Jack touches his shoulder, and then he nearly jumps out of his skin, his throat choking out a raw cry (the first sound Jack has heard him make, besides gasps). Just like before, he curls defensively in on himself; and just like before, it breaks Jack's heart.

But Jack keeps his own blue eyes fixed on the boy's green ones, and slowly shows him the paper. He writes slowly and carefully, aware that his handwriting (and spelling, too, for that matter) are mediocre at the best of times. The block letters that appear on the paper are the clearest Jack has ever written.

 _Hello,_ they read. _My name is Jack. What is your name?_

Jack can't breathe as the kid's blue eyes take in the paper, and his heart pounds, waiting for a reaction.

He gets a reaction, all right; but it is nothing at all like what Jack had hoped for.

* * *

 _He sits in the corner shaking, trying to forget where he is, but he can't. The image of the place he has been taken is firmly impressed in his mind: the big room, with all the big boys in it. He's scared. It reminds him of the Other Place. That one had lots of big boys, too. That one had hundreds of children with no parents._

 _That place still gives him nightmares to think about._

 _It has been a crazy day. He wishes the big boy, the one with the green eyes, had just left him alone, let him be. He wishes the boy with green eyes hadn't dragged him out of his alley._

 _The boy with green eyes came up to him on the street that day and did the Mouth Thing. It's so confusing. Everybody does the Mouth Thing and expects him to understand, but he doesn't. He doesn't know what it means. They all seem to, though - they all seem to think it's the most intuitive thing in the world - and it's making him believe that there is something badly wrong with him._

 _He has been dragged here, to this room with all the big boys, and he doesn't know what to think. At least the others are leaving him alone for now; but he's sure that at some point they will start tormenting him. It is inevitable. At the Other Place, they started after a couple hours. It will certainly be the same here._

 _Why didn't they just let him be?_

 _Suddenly there is something on his shoulder, and he whirls. It is the boy with green eyes again. He flinches, recoiling. The boy with green eyes looks concerned for a minute, and he shies away more. He is on edge, terror of what is to come underscored by the dreadful resignation. Whenever he is in a room with lots of big boys, pain happens._

 _The boy with green eyes doesn't hit him yet, though. He cautiously opens his eyes a bit more, and the white in front of him slides slowly into focus. It is a sheet of some kind. Blank. He isn't sure what it means. He isn't sure what the boy with green eyes wants from him._

 _The boy with green eyes smiles slightly, and then he moves his hand over the sheet. Behind the hand strokes, drawings materialize. Symbols, of some sort. They are all the same dull shade of gray, hard and uniform, incredibly different but somehow all the same. It unsettles him._

 _The boy with green eyes looks at him expectantly, as if the symbols are supposed to mean something. That's when it hits him. This is another trick, another thing that's wrong with him, another thing he should know but can't. There is the Mouth Thing and the Hands Thing and now this._

 _They mean something to everybody else, but not him. Clearly, there is something wrong with him._

 _He doesn't like it. It hurts. He wants to understand, but it is complete gibberish. He doesn't know why people keep tricking him. He doesn't know why people keep trying. Don't they know there is something wrong with him? Don't they know it won't work?_

 _He wants to understand. He wants to understand so very badly. He wants to know the Mouth Thing and the Hands Thing and the Symbols Thing. But he just can't._

 _There is something so, so wrong with him._

 _He lashes out with his frustration. His feet kick and his arms start to thrash. Soon his whole body is spasming wildly, out of control. He feels something in his neck, and the entire inside of his throat feels raw as something tears out from inside of him. He is kicking madly now. The boy with green eyes is trying to hold him back, but he can't stop._

 _He wants to know. He wants to understand._

 _Why can't he? What is wrong with him?_

 _The frustration, the anger, the pain rips through him wildly. He keeps fighting. The boy with green eyes is holding him down. He doesn't care. He keeps struggling and kicking and hitting. Now his cheeks are wet again and he cannot stop. He cannot calm himself down._

 _The boy with green eyes touches his cheek, and it feels good. He spasms, trembling, feeling the roughness in his throat slowly subside, the seizures in his neck grow slower. The hand doesn't leave his face. It feels nice. It is like nothing he has ever felt before._

 _The hand runs softly over his cheek and it is comforting. It stops the fighting. It stops the shaking._

 _He is better. He is back in control. That's good. When he is out of control, bad things happen._

 _He is ashamed now. He cannot look at the boy with green eyes. But slowly, a finger is under his chin, turning his face so he must look up. He is still quaking slightly._

 _The boy with green eyes gives him a sad smile and brushes a tear away from his face. His gaze slowly meets the green eyes. They are calm._

 _He likes it._

 _He doesn't smile, but he doesn't look away either._

* * *

Jack finally can breathe a sigh of relief when the kid looks up at him. The child's outburst was terrifying. One moment, Jack was sitting there and extending a note to the boy; the next, the kid had exploded into a fitful tantrum, screaming and sobbing and yelling gibberish. Jack hadn't expected to see such an intense fight from a child so tiny.

Now, though, the kid's calmer. His face is flooded in tears, but he's stopped fighting. He's peering up at Jack with terrified, hopeless eyes, but at least the fighting has subsided.

Jack has no idea what he did to get the kid so upset. Could the boy possibly have a negative mental association with writing? Jack's not sure, but it worries him. Plus, clearly, the boy can't read. So that's another mode of communication rendered worthless - and Jack can't help but feel disappointed.

And right now, he has no idea what to do. He's kneeling next to the boy, keeping a gentle hand stroking his cheek softly. The boy seems to trust him now, at least a little, and that's encouraging. But Jack knows that trust can shatter in a heartbeat.

And with a kid this fragile and this confused, it wouldn't take much.

Jack slowly inches back from the kid, who whimpers and tries to grab him as he moves away. The child is terrified that he's being abandoned, and it breaks Jack's heart. Slowly, though, Jack gets to his feet and offers a hand out to the younger boy, gesturing that he should do the same.

Jack can feel the stunned eyes of the other newsboys. They've been staring - painfully obviously - since the kid's outburst. Jack attacks them all with a harsh glare and they look away sheepishly. The boy doesn't even notice.

He struggles to his feet, groping around for his crutch. Race - who's swooped in from who-knows-where - offers it to him gently. Wide-eyed, the boy takes it, shying away from Race. Jack notices the hurt look in the newsie's blue eyes, but he shakes his head slightly: _it's not your fault._

The Deaf boy stumbles confusedly through the halls of the Lodging House, guided by Jack's arm around his neck. He presses himself into the older child, hiding from the others; they look, pained, after him. The kid just keeps his eyes downcast and straight ahead, not breaking his gaze for anything.

Finally, they arrive at the dormitory, if such a fancy word could be applied to such a plain room. It's filled with simple, utilitarian bunk beds of hard wood, stark but sturdy. It's not fancy, but it's warm and dry and neat.

The kid sways on his feet when he sees it, peering up at Jack with such sadly hopeful eyes. Jack feels tears in his own eyes. "Come on, kid," he murmures, knowing the boy can't hear him. The boy flinches slightly but follows just the same.

Jack lets the boy sit on one of the back bunks, as far as he can get from the rest of the energetic boys. The boy is looking up in total confusion, and Jack does his best to reassure him without words. All he can do is smile slightly.

The boy whimpers and curls away from Jack and into the bed. He snuggles under the thick wool blanket and pulls the pillow over his head, burrowing deeper into the sheets and totally blocking out the world. The message is clear enough: _Leave me alone._ And in just a couple of seconds, Jack can tell from the rise and fall of the boy's impression that he's fast asleep.

Jack swallows hard, just staring at the boy for a few moments. This poor kid… Jack isn't at all sure how he'll teach him to be able to converse. He can't read, he can't hear, he can't sign, and he has zero concept of language. It will be ridiculously challenging to make him understand.

 _I will, though_ , Jack pledges to the boy's quiet form. _I will. I promise I will._

A tiny hand is curled around the edge of the blanket. A sudden urge filling him, Jack grabs the hand and plants a soft kiss on it. Then he sets the still limb back down. It latches onto the blanket again.

A small smile creeps onto Jack's face. He's watched countless other kids sleep like this, clutching onto their blanket just like this boy is. The child may be crippled, Deaf, mute, and illiterate, but he's far from a lost case, and he's far more similar to most children than he might think he is. Jack is sure of that. And by the time he's been with the newsies for a few months, Jack is certain that he'll be chattering away as much as any five-year-old, albeit with his hands.

 _I'll make sure of it_ , Jack promises gently. _I promise._

* * *

 **So... there you go!**

 **If we have any Deaf readers on this site, please, please, please give me feedback. Since Crutchie can't use sign language or read, obviously he's drastically cut off from the world, unlike most Deaf people. Still, though, I'd love any perspective you can offer!**

 **Everybody else, too - please leave a review! Tell me what you loved, hated, or were uncertain about.**

 **Thanks so much! I love you all! See you next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to Chapter 2! I hope you guys are still with me and enjoying the story. Here's where it really gets exciting! Crutchie starts to learn a little sign language - a HUGE breakthrough. :D**

 **I hope you guys enjoy! Please read and review. Thanks so much for all the reviews last time! Queenlmno, brighteyes421, Fanz4life, Demonwolf, Cottonballpoofs, SomedayonBroadway(!), unofficialfansie, and bexlynne (my very first – thanks a million!): Your reviews all meant so much! They all made my day to read. I was actually a bit nervous to read all of them, but you guys were amazing! Thanks to everybody who followed and favorited, too. (I encourage you guys to review this chapter as well, whether you love it or hate it!)**

 **A quick note: This chapter is strongly based off of the experiences of Helen Keller first understanding the idea that objects have names. You might recognize some similar parallels if you're familiar with Helen's story!**

 **Anyways, without further ado, welcome to the most exciting chapter in this story so far! Enjoy Chapter 2!**

* * *

"What did I _tell_ you about bringing more orphans back to the Lodging House?"

Jack flinches a bit, and he drops his gaze, not meeting Louis's eyes. The older boy stands there demandingly, hands on his hips, and Jack can't find the strength to look into the Manhattan leader's face. The fury radiating from him pierces Jack painfully.

"I couldn't just leave him!" he protests anyways, fixated by his hands but defiant all the same. "He would've died if I didn't bring him back, Louis! He would've - "

"He'll probably die anyways, Jack!" Louis's voice is frustrated, exasperated. Jack's head shoots up, and he starts to protest, but Louis cuts him off. "He's starving and weak and he's _crippled_! There's no way he survives more than a few months! And - Jack, the kid is _Deaf_! We can't talk to him, we can't sign to him, and he can't communicate with us at all! There's no way - "

"I'll teach him!" Jack breaks in then, his voice desperate and pained. "I'll teach him how to sign, I'll teach him how to read! I will! But - _please_ , Louis! Don't abandon him again! Let him stay here and I'll look after him, I'll teach him. _Please."_

Louis stares at him, sighing. Jack can tell he is exasperated, but he's worn down. He doesn't want to put up any more of a fight.

"Fine," Louis says eventually. "Teach him. But you're responsible for him, Jack. You pay for his board, you find him food, okay? He ain't my responsibility."

Jack nods eagerly, relief filling his body. "I will, Louis. I understand."

Louis gives him a curt nod. "Don't expect any help from us," he warns. It stings, but Jack nods anyways.

"I get it, Louis. I get it."

* * *

Jack stays home that day. He doesn't even try to sell. Once the others have left, he goes back to the bunk room. The kid is still fast asleep, passed out under his blankets. Jack is sure he hasn't slept this well in months, maybe years.

Jack spends the first hour aimlessly, pacing back and forth in the room with one eye always on the sleeping kid. At eight o'clock, he shows no sign of stirring, but Jack doesn't mind; he is just glad to see the boy relaxing.

At one point Jack creeps out of the room to use the bathroom (although, he reflects ironically, he really doesn't need to be quiet around this kid). When he returns, he does a double-take, surprised at the sight of the kid wide awake and curled into a ball at the head of his bed.

The kid looks up, and his terrified green eyes find Jack's. Jack almost breaks at the sight, but he slowly makes his way over to the boy, crouching down and reaching out to him gently. _No sudden moves,_ Jack reminds himself. _Nothing harsh._

The boy still shies away from him, but it's in fear, not panic, which is an encouraging sign. As much as it hurts to admit, Jack should be expecting fear from this boy. Almost all the new kids who come to the Lodging House are afraid of touch, at least at first. The fact that the kid isn't panicking is certainly positive.

Jack smiles at the boy, who offers a hesitant grin back - but Jack can tell his heart isn't in it. Undeterred, he offers a hand to the little boy. The kid's eyes are teary with fear now, but Jack is the only person he knows in this world; and so he timidly stretches his own hand out.

The kid's palm is tiny and shaking, and it takes forever for him to reach his hand to Jack's, but when he does, the older boy could not be more relieved. He helps the child to his feet gently, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. It's the only way he can communicate with the boy at all.

Jack keeps an arm around the kid's shoulders, supporting him as he hobbles along with that crutch. Jack barely controls the impulse to shake his head. Crippled, Deaf, mute, and abandoned… what has the world _done_ to this kid?

Jack leads the kid into the main room and sits him down on the couch, before crossing to the mostly-empty pantry and rummaging around until he finds a scrap of food: in this case, a soft but not rotten apple that he deems perfectly suitable for the kid's consumption. He brings the fruit back over to the boy, conscious of the kid's sharp eyes scrutinizing his every move. Jack kneels in front of the kid, holding out the fruit with his left hand and using his right to sign the word _apple_.

The kid just stares blankly, and his teeth clench in frustration when Jack repeats the sign with his hand closer to the boy's face. He clearly doesn't understand; and Jack doesn't want to push him. Not yet. That will come soon, but only after the boy has eaten. So instead, Jack just pushes the apple out towards the boy, willing him to take it, to eat.

The kid hesitates, shying in on himself, his tiny face twisting with distrust. Jack feels his heart shatter yet again. But he keeps holding out the apple - and eventually the kid gives in.

He takes it in trembling fingers, and shyly points to himself. _For me?_ he's asking, and Jack feels himself gasp. It's barely anything, but the kid is asking something, expressing himself. It's a start; a tiny hint of a beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.

Jack nods encouragingly, pointing to the boy. _Yes_ , he says, _for you._ The boy's eyebrows raise fearfully, still afraid that he's doing the wrong thing; but he takes a tiny bite of the fruit anyways.

It's clear from the way his eyes dart and widen and flash that he expects Jack to hurt him, to punish him for eating. But Jack just stays there, keeping his small smile fixed on his face and making the kid as comfortable as possible. When the boy sees that, he begins to gobble the food down, clearly starving.

The apple is finished in record time, and Jack wishes he had something else to give the boy. But there's no more food in the Lodging House, and he doesn't want to go outside and drag the crippled kid with him - or worse, leave him alone.

So Jack just sits down next to the kid, pretending not to see the boy flinch at the close proximity. Jack breathes slowly, trying to calm himself. He's put a lot of thought into how he's going to do this, and he can't afford to mess it up.

The problem is massive. The boy simply doesn't understand that objects have names; that part is clear to Jack. He can't grasp the concept that this slab of wood here is a _table_ and is always a _table_ and will be a _table_ no matter what you say or think about it. And, to be fair, why should the boy understand that idea? He's never been exposed to language at all.

But Jack _needs_ to break that wall. If he accomplishes nothing else, he _must_ accomplish that much.

And he might as well start with that slab of wood in front of them.

Jack gets off the couch, kneeling opposite the boy and keeping his eyes directly on him. Slowly, Jack sweeps his hand across the table, knocks on the wood, rocks the furniture back and forth. Then he brings his forearms together and slowly signs _table._

The kid just stares; Jack sighs, trying to remember that this is all entirely foreign to the boy. Again, he gestures to the wood, doing everything in his power to indicate the table. Then he deliberately signs the word.

The kid shakes his head, pushing himself further into the couch; he's intimidated by the flurry of unfamiliar signs and he wants to escape. Jack sees him start to close his eyes, shutting out the world.

But Jack can't let him do that, can't let a child so full of potential lock himself away. He is back by the kid's side in a second, sitting next to him. The boy shakes his head fearfully and shies away from Jack's presence.

Jack, undeterred, slowly reaches out to take the boy's arm. The kid gasps and flinches away, but Jack doesn't stop, as much as it hurts his heart to push this boy. He _must_ make the kid understand.

Slowly, Jack forms the boy's arms into the sign for _table_. The kid resists every second of it, trembling and struggling against Jack's hold. Jack forces his shaking arms into the sign _table_ twice, then releases him. Before the boy can cringe away again, he signs it himself. _Table._

The boy looks up timidly, his face a mask of helplessness and confusion. But despite that, he brings his own quaking arms up and mimics Jack's sign. _Table._

Jack stares at him for a second, before an enormous smile breaks out on his face. _"Yes,_ kid!" he breathes, aware that he boy can't hear him but not caring. He just laughs and nods and smiles. "Good job!"

The kid signs the word again, and Jack keeps nodding at him and smiling. He's still not sure, though, if the boy has connected the sign with the actual object, if he realizes that the strange thing Jack has forced him to do with his arms means the rickety piece of wood in front of him.

Jack decides to try another sign now, this time the one for _wall_. It's simple too: two palms facing out and gently sliding apart. He runs his hands over the wall, then makes the sign for the boy; this time, the kid copies without much prompting.

Jack feels his heart swell with hope and optimism. Maybe - just _maybe_ \- the kid gets it…

Jack gestures back to the table and looks expectantly at the kid, waiting for him to sign; he even gives him an encouraging nod. The boy stares back, bewildered. Finally, he raises his hands shakily, but this time he signs _wall_. Jack feels his heart sink. The kid can copy the signs, all right, but he simply has no idea that they have a deeper meaning.

 _Come on, kid. Please just understand…_

The boy cringes at the sudden look of disapproval that flashes across Jack's face, and the older boy is by his side at once, shoving the frustration aside. It's not this boy's fault, not one bit. Jack smiles at the kid, encouraging him, trying to keep his spirits up.

The boy doesn't smile back.

Jack's heart quivers, but he can't give up, not now. He _has_ to do this, has to break through. Jack gets up, crosses the room, and takes a pen from the counter. He comes back and hands it to the boy, hoping that something a bit more tangible might help the kid make the connection - that one vital connection, between objects and words.

It's Jack's last idea; if the kid doesn't get it, he's not quite sure what he'll do, for the boy's sake or his own.

 _Come on, kid_ , Jack thinks. _Please._

* * *

 _There is something building inside of him as the boy with green eyes does the Hands Thing, but it isn't anger. Not now. It's more… helplessness. He is out of his depth. He is scared._

 _The boy with green eyes is doing the Hands Thing, and forcing him to do the Hands Thing too. He is trying. He copies what the boy with green eyes is doing, keeping his arms as steady as they can be._

 _He is really trying to do the Hands Thing, really trying to do what the boy with green eyes shows him. But it doesn't make sense. No matter how much he mimics the boy with green eyes, it is just that: mimicry. It means nothing._

 _It feels strange to his unaccustomed hands. It feels strange to do what the boy with green eyes does so easily. It feels weird to copy the Hands Thing._

 _That is no surprise, though, is it? What feels natural to others has always felt alien to him. He is used to it. He is used to having something wrong with him. He has felt that way ever since the Other Place._

 _He can feel the frustration radiating from the boy with green eyes, and he shrinks away. The boy with green eyes is quickly by his side, smiling as if nothing is wrong. It eases his breathing a little, but he is still afraid. He can't bring his lips to smile._

 _The boy with green eyes gets up and crosses the room, and brings something back in his hand. It's small; a writing utensil of some sort. The boy with green eyes kneels in front of him, taking his fist and wrapping it tightly around the object. He trembles, not sure where this is going; but he trusts the boy with the green eyes (even if he doesn't understand him) and doesn't struggle away._

 _The boy with green eyes is clutching his own little fist tightly, which in turn has a tight grasp on the object. With his other hand, the boy with green eyes brings a finger to his lips and then makes a squiggle in the air. Then the boy with green eyes does it again, and again, and again._

 _It is another one of the Hands Things._

 _The boy with green eyes keeps doing the Hands Thing, keeps repeating the same motion. The boy with green eyes shakes his hand, the one clutching the object, as he does so._

 _Again and again and again._

 _He is confused. Why_ _this_ _Hands Thing? Why_ _this_ _object? Why both at the same time? It doesn't make any sense._

 _Again and again and again._

 _Why this Hands Thing? Why this object?_

 _Again and again and again._

 _Why together?_

 _Again._

 _Together_ _._

 _He goes completely still._

 _Always together._

 _This Hands Thing and this object go together._

 _This Hands Thing and this object go together, and they will always, always, always go together._

 _This Hands Thing and this object… they mean the same thing. And they will always mean the same thing. And the Hands Thing will always mean the object. The pen._

 _He feels himself freeze, and he is sure he stops breathing for a moment._

* * *

Jack's hope has grown more desperate as the time passes, as the kid cannot seem to find a way to break through this box he's been placed in. This stupid, impenetrable box that doesn't need to be there.

This kid is smart. He doesn't need to be set apart from the world of the hearing. But somebody has neglected him, ignored him, not bothered to teach him how to sign. Now, when he's five years old, it might already be too late.

Jack doesn't believe it, but he finds himself growing frustrated as the boy struggles. He's not frustrated with the boy - more with the situation - but he's sure his frustration is showing nonetheless.

The child is clearly upset too. It's been a long stretch of being forced to sign meaningless signs, and it's taking its toll on him.

 _Last one, kid_ , Jack promises silently, as he presses the pen into the boy's hands. _This is the last sign, then I'll let you have a break._

Jack curls the kid's fingers around the pen, before surrounding the boy's fist with his own. The child struggles briefly, but only for a moment. Soon he gives in, doesn't try to fight it.

Jack faces the boy, and he slowly signs _pen_ , trying with all his might to convey the meaning, to show the kid what he means.

 _Pen._

The kid stares helplessly, shaking his head.

 _Pen._

Jack shakes the hand holding the pen slightly, trying to show the connection. Nothing.

 _Pen._

Something is happening in the boy's eyes. The confusion is still prominent, but there is something underneath it. Something moving. Something growing.

 _Pen._

The kid's lips part slightly, and Jack can practically hear the gears in his brain whirring. He is slowly beginning to put two and two together.

 _Pen._

There is understanding in his eyes, but the confusion is still stronger.

 _Pen._

And then the kid freezes.

He goes absolutely still for a second, gazing at Jack with a thousand different undisguised emotions, and then he flies into a frenzy. He rips his hand from Jack's, clutching the pen in a fist that is wildly shaking all of a sudden. _Pen_ , he signs, and his eyes are trying to convey what he means. He shoves the pen into Jack's face and copies the sign, just as desperately. _Pen._

Jack just nods, shivering. The awe on this child's face is incredible. Jack is sure that he has finally broken through, that he finally understands; and the older boy is shaking with relief and desperation and wonder and pride.

The boy is on his feet in a second, despite the twisted leg that makes him stumble. He turns and flings an arm out, hitting the couch; then he looks to Jack with wide, wondering eyes. Jack laughs and shows him the sign for _couch_. A huge smile overtakes the kid's face, and he copies the sign, radiating euphoria Jack has never seen.

Now he points at the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and Jack, giggling now, shows him _light._ Again the kid signs it with an indescribable awe in his eyes, and Jack is filled with absolute joy, knowing that the kid understands, knowing that he will never be locked away so harshly again. He will always have words with him.

The kid slaps the table, and Jack grins, showing him the sign from before. _Table._ The kid cocks his head at the familiar gesture, considering; then he laughs. Jack's heart melts. It is a bright, clear sound, like a bell peal on a cold morning. It is the purest sound he has ever heard.

The kid is a fast learner. He kicks the wall now, and correctly signs _wall_ , recalling the gesture from earlier. Jack is amazed that he remembers it, and has gone back through his muddled memory to know what it means.

Then the kid freezes. Jack takes a hesitant step towards him, worried; then the boy comes trotting up to Jack and pats his shoulder gently.

Jack grins, sure the boy is trying to say _thank you_. He gives him a gentle, reassuring nod, and a smile of encouragement. But the boy doesn't stop. He pats Jack again.

 _What is it?_ Jack wonders worriedly, wanting to understand the boy but not quite able. _What do you want?_

The kid pats his shoulder one more time, and then Jack gets it. The boy knows the names for the objects around him, the table and wall and light. Now he wants to know the name for the child standing in front of him.

Jack fingerspells his name carefully, letter by letter. _J-A-C-K._ He wants to go further, wants to sign _My name is J-A-C-K_ , but doesn't want to run the risk of confusing this boy, ruining such a perfect moment. So he settles for his name.

The kid smiles at him. _J-A-C-K_ , he copies slowly, four separate signs but each done with such perfect, careful precision. Jack is touched beyond words.

Now that he understands that much, there is one more thing the kid must know, one more thing he needs a name for. Jack has been expecting it, and is not at all surprised when the kid raps his knuckles twice against his own skull, asking the name for himself. _What am I called?_

Jack considers this carefully. The kid doesn't have any other name, has never had any sort of family that has called him anything. Jack wants to call him something special, something that means more than any other name, more than Nathan or Casey or even Jack.

The kid will always have his crutch. It's endearing, in a way; it makes him somehow cute. It's unique and it makes him stand out. And it's admirable, really, that a boy injured in such a way has survived so long.

So Jack raises his fingers and spells out the boy's name gently. _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E._

The boy's eyes become even brighter, if that's possible. He stares at Jack with unconcealed wonder. Then he reaches out to tap himself.

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E._

Tears well in both boys' eyes at that.

There is so much Jack wants to say in that moment, but he can't articulate any of it, and even if he could Crutchie wouldn't understand. So instead Jack just flings his arms around Crutchie, pulling the younger boy close, trying with all his might to show the love he has for this little boy.

It is, he's certain, a sentiment that can be expressed without words.

* * *

 **Don't worry, this isn't the end! Crutchie's smart, but he only knows six words now. There's a long way still to go!**

 **If you've read this far, please PLEASE review. I would love if we could get up to 18 reviews before I post the next chapter! Talk about whatever you want - what you loved about this, what you hated, what you think is totally unrealistic, what you had for lunch today, what your sister said to you, whatever.**

 **One last thing! You know how the Manhattan leader at the beginning is named Louis? I realized this only after I wrote this chapter, but the real leader of the 1899 strike was named Louis Bennett. Historians estimate he was thirteen or fourteen years old. (Imagine that - fourteen! I mean, I'm fourteen, and I can hardly imagine leading such a huge movement. But hey, just look at the sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds starting national revolutions from Parkland!) Anyways, I digress.**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review, follow, or favorite, and I hope you guys have an incredible day! See you soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I'm back!**

 **I'm so sorry it's been this long. Today, as you guys may know, was the National School Walkout to protest school shootings and advocate for common-sense gun reform. I was one of the organizers for my school's event, and it was absolutely exhausting and overwhelming. There were basically 5 of us working to organize an event at a school with 1,600 students. We've been overworked, stressed, proud, excited, nervous, worried, confused, empowered, thrilled, awed, and so much more.**

 **Today was the day and it was awesome. We rallied, marched, wrote letters, made phone calls, and so much more, with close to 1,000 students from our school and a neighboring one. I also have a chapter update, so that makes it even awesome-r! I hope you guys enjoy this one.**

 **A QUICK NOTE** **: in the sections of this chapter narrated by Crutchie, you'll see some** **underlined** **words** **. These are words that Crutchie understands and knows how to sign, as opposed to non-underlined words, which are my written transcription of his nonverbal thoughts. Let me know if this works for you guys! :)**

 **Also, I LOVE LOVE LOVE reading all of your reviews! Thank you so much to unofficialfansie, Mickey00, MonstersOfLife, queenlmno, Demonwolf, brighteyes421, bexlynne, SomedayonBroadway (who left her review at 4:00 a.m. :D), Les Phansie, Jersey09, Fanz4life, Lucy, and my last guest reviewer. (Guest – it is similar to Helen Keller, isn't it? That's really the most logical way of breaking through the language deprivation barrier.)**

 **Guys… do you think we could get to 35 total reviews before I post chapter 4? Like, that would be pretty awesome.**

 **Oh, and last thing, our lovely writer/reviewer unofficialfansie reminded me that the leader of the 1899 strike was Louis** _ **Belletti**_ **(I kinda misspelled his name last time). Thanks so much – and as always, totally feel free to correct me on anything!**

 **Jeez, with that super long author's note out of the way, here we go!**

* * *

The rest of the day zips by in a whirlwind, a rush of wonder and amazement and - above all - _words_. Always more and more words.

The Lodging House gives Crutchie the names for all the mundane objects he's never been able to describe, the _bed_ and _floor_ and _chair._ The wall of windows in the bunk room teaches him about New York, the _tree_ and the _street_ and the _people_ and even the _bird_ , which he is enthralled by even if he'll never hear its song. And hours later, despite how long the day has been and how much energy Crutchie has managed to put forth, the boys are sitting on the couch again, learning more words: this time, adjectives. Jack is finally Crutchie ways to describe his newfound world.

It starts with emotions; simple ones, at first, of course: _happy_ and _sad_ and _excited_ and _scared_ (though the kid flinches a bit at the last one). The signs come easily to him, and Jack can see the euphoria building in him as he understands that this impulse in him, this deep pit of emotion and _feeling_ sloshing around inside of him, can be named and described and understood.

The kid sinks further into the couch as he repeats more and more signs, and Jack can see his eyelids flutter slightly. But still Crutchie signs the words back eagerly, with no hesitation; Jack has no qualms with giving him more. Crutchie's face is a constant, unchanging mask of awe, and tears glitter eternally in his eyes with the wonder of this new world.

The boys move on to colors not long after. The first is an old pressed rose, one of the decaying chairs, and a book's cover: they are all _red_. _Yellow_ is the color of the sun, of Jack's faded checkered shirt, of the drawing of a sunflower lying on the counter. _Blue_ is the sky and the faded blanket on the newsboys' beds. And a dried leaf and the forest-patterned couch and the boy's shirt all give him _green._

It's then, at _green_ , that the wetness overflows Crutchie's eyes and the boy starts to cry. They're not pained tears, of course; they're more a sign of overflowing emotion. But Jack's heart twinges just the same, and he moves over to sit right next to the kid, wishing he could understand the sudden onset of tears.

With shaking hands, the boy taps Jack's eyes and signs _green_. Jack smiles gently, nodding in affirmation. Crutchie just sobs, smiling broadly but still letting tears stream down his face.

 _It's overwhelming_ , Jack acknowledges, a bit sadly. _It's a lot to be faced with all of a sudden._

The boy's tears are coming harder now, escalating into full-blown sobs. His entire body is shaking. It's not a particularly scary meltdown - Jack is sure that the boy won't lash out, sure that he's more amazed than angry - but seeing the kid cry still isn't easy.

Crutchie raises tiny hands, trying to sign something, but he's trembling far too much to form coherent words. Instead he gives up and hurls his arms around Jack, who can't help but laugh slightly as he reaches out and takes the five-year-old into his embrace, bringing the boy onto his lap and stroking his soft blonde hair.

Jack can feel the kid trembling slightly, but his body is growing heavier too. Jack looks down and smiles slightly when he sees Crutchie's bright blue eyes having trouble staying open. Crutchie yawns, a surprisingly adorable sound, and Jack can't help but laugh. Grinning, he reaches his arms away from the boy and signs _tired_ , pantomiming a yawn himself so the kid knows what it means. The light in Crutchie's eyes grows even brighter for a moment, and he slowly reaches up his hands to make the sign for himself.

That's when exhaustion overcomes the kid, and he slumps fast asleep in Jack's arms.

Jack laughs slightly, and just stays there, cradling the kid's body for a few minutes more. Then he hears the _bong_ ing of church bells in the distance, and he stands up, still holding Crutchie's small (and worryingly light) body to his chest. Jack crosses the room and reenters the bunk-room, setting Crutchie down on the mattress and pulling a gently blanket over the boy's sleeping form. Crutchie exhales in his sleep and shifts positions, drawing the blanket even tighter around his tiny body.

Jack smiles, then leaves the room and makes his way downstairs, shutting the door softly behind him.

* * *

It's Panther who comes back to the Lodging House first, closely followed by Sammy and Specs, and then by Louis. Jack draws him aside instantly, letting the other boys continue through the Lodging House. Louis looks at the younger boy wearily, gray eyes uninterested. "Well, Jack?" he says, a bit impatient and not trying so hard to disguise it.

"I got him to understand," Jack says immediately, and he can see a glimmer of surprise and interest in Louis's previously blank eyes. "He can name most of the things in the Lodging House now. And he can name simple emotions, and he knows some of his colors. He's _smart_ , Louis, one of the smartest kids I've met. Please let him stay."

Louis's face softens, just that tiny bit, and he offers a small smile to Jack. "We'll see," he offers, but it is a legitimate promise. He really will consider. "Introduce him to me later," Louis says, "and then we'll make a decision. All right?"

Jack isn't thrilled, but he is encouraged, and so he grins back up at the Manhattan leader. "Okay. I promise, Louis."

Louis turns and walks out of the room, but just before he does, he stops and turns back. The smile that warms his face makes Jack's heart speed up. "Good job, Jack," the older boy says softly, before finally walking out of the room for good.

Jack just stands there and laughs. And as more newsboys pour into the Lodging House, coming back home as soon as they've sold their last papers, Jack pays no mind to where they go.

Crutchie has broken through a huge barrier. Louis has said Jack's done a good job. And the little boy might be able to stay at the Lodging House after all.

It has been a good day.

* * *

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is_ _tired_ _. He knows the word for it now._ _Tired_ _. Two hands on his chest with his thumbs pointing up. Drop the hands._ _Tired_ _._

 _But_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is awake now. He can feel the world beginning to come into focus. He is lying on a_ _bed_ _, under a_ _blanket_ _. He knows how to say these things now._

 _Better than that, there is another way to describe this_ _blanket_ _too… isn't there? It is the same color as the flowers._ _Red_ _. A_ _red __blanket_ _._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles as his_ _eyes_ _crack open and he sees, laid on his chest, the_ _red __blanket_ _. It is soft and warm. He likes it. It makes him_ _happy_ _. He knows how to say that too._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _yawns and slowly begins to sit up. His eyes start to sweep around the room, taking it all in: the_ _bed_ _s and the __blanket_ _s and the __ceiling_ _and_ _floor_ _and everything else he can name._

 _And then, suddenly, his eyes alight on something else. No, somebody else. Three_ _people_ _, three boys. They sit on the_ _bed_ _opposite_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _'s, watching him carefully._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels something. He knows what he feels. It is a bad_ _sign_ _, an ugly_ _sign_ _. But he knows what it means; he feels it now._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is_ _scared_ _._

 _But he does not need to feel_ _scared_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can understand now. He can talk to_ _people_ _. He is not alone and lost like he was before. He has no reason to be_ _scared_ _._

 _He still is, though; he can still feel the fear wracking his body. But he has calmed down, at least slightly._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _sits up slowly, feeling his_ _leg_ _twinge with pain. It hurts, but he has learned to ignore it by now. His_ _crutch_ _is leaning on the side of the_ _bed_ _, but he doesn't want to get up. Not yet._

 _Instead,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _turns to the_ _people_ _on the bed and raises his_ _hands_ _slightly. With shaking_ _fingers_ _, he signs the word "_ _Hello_ _."_

 _The boys look at each other and smile. That means they are_ _happy_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _relaxes a little._

 _One of the_ _people_ _raises his_ _hands_ _too. He signs "_ _Hello_ _" back at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is encouraged. He raises his own_ _hands_ _again and signs, "_ _My __name __is __C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _."_

 _The_ _people_ _on the_ _bed_ _smile again. The one who spoke before raises his_ _hands_ _and signs carefully. "_ _My __name __is __B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _," he says slowly._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _cannot help the slight gasp that escapes his lips. The_ _person_ _is talking to him, really, truly talking to him. Raising his own_ _hands_ _, Crutchie_ _signs_ _, "_ _Hello_ _,_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _."_

 _He cannot believe what just happened. He cannot believe that he knows_ _signs_ _, and this other_ _boy_ _also knows_ _signs_ _, and they can use the_ _signs_ _to talk, to communicate. He cannot believe that he just did it. He said something and the other boy understood._

 _It leaves him awestruck, rocked backwards, barely able to refocus on the moment when the next_ _person_ _on the_ _bed_ _raises his_ _hands_ _._

 _The boy looks at him. "_ _My __name __is __F-I-N-C-H_ _," he tells_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, who smiles and signs back, "_ _Hello_ _,_ _F-I-N-C-H_ _." It is getting easier now. It is making more sense. The_ _signs_ _are coming more naturally now._

 _Finally the last_ _person_ _signs to_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _. His_ _signs_ _are shaky and uncertain, and they are more muddled than the other_ _people_ _'s, but_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can read them. "_ _My __name_ _," says the third_ _person_ _, "_ _is __E-L-M-E-R_ _."_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _nods and signs back, greeting the other boy: "_ _Hello_ _,_ _E-L-M-E-R_ _."_

 _Once that is done, once the introductions are out of the way, they all sit there, a bit awkwardly. The three_ _people_ _\- no, they have names,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _reminds himself; their names are_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _and_ _F-I-N-C-H_ _and_ _E-L-M-E-R_ _\- sit there uncertainly, not sure what_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can understand._

 _So it is_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _who raises his_ _hands_ _next. He wants to tell the_ _people_ _how_ _excited_ _he is to have met them, how incredible it feels to talk to somebody, to sign, to have a conversation. Life has become a two-way street and he loves every bit of it._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _wants to tell them all of that, but he does not have the words. He can only settle for a timid "_ _I'm __happy_ _," hoping that it conveys all of the emotions that are balled up inside of him._

 _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _smiles at that, and brings up his own_ _hands_ _. He signs three_ _signs_ _, slowly and clearly. The first is obvious:_ _I_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _also recognizes the last one: it's the_ _sign_ _he just made,_ _happy_ _. The middle_ _sign_ _is unfamiliar to him, but the boy is smiling. The boy looks_ _happy_ _, also. He decides the sign must mean something like that. "_ _Also_ _."_

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles, filling up with_ _excitement_ _to be talking to_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _, really, truly having a conversation with somebody. But then he feels his smile fade. He only knows a few_ _signs_ _. He can barely express himself._

 _And… this is just one boy. Yesterday, there were dozens of_ _people_ _. Lots of older boys. And_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _doesn't know if he's ready to face them all. Even just this small conversation made terrified him._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _signs another_ _sign_ _, this one slower. "_ _I'm __scared_ _," he admits reluctantly, barely looking up at the_ _people_ _._

 _Their smiles all drop at that._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _flinches; has he made them_ _sad_ _? But then_ _F-I-N-C-H_ _signs something to him._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _doesn't quite understand it, but_ _F-I-N-C-H_ _'s smile is soft and comforting. It makes him relax just a little bit. It makes him feel less_ _scared_ _._

 _He smiles._

If Crutchie knew more signs than the few he's learned in the last six hours, he would have read Finch's signs easily: "You're doing great. We love you."

* * *

Jack opens the door to the bunk room timidly, not quite sure what he'll find. He doesn't know if Crutchie will be awake by now, or still fast asleep, getting the rest he so clearly hasn't enjoyed for the past few years of sleeping on the streets. The last thing he expects, however, is to see three boys seated on the bed opposite Crutchie's, smiling hesitantly at the Deaf boy. He recognizes them instantly; they're barely a year younger than him. It's Buttons, Finch, and Elmer. Of the three, only Buttons is anywhere near fluent in sign language.

Seeing them, Jack's worry is instantly sparked. He had no idea that they'd gotten into the bunk room, and he is terrified at the prospect of them trying to talk to Crutchie. The younger boy hardly knows fifty words, and most of those are nouns. Trying to have a real conversation, especially with somebody fluent in ASL, will terrify him.

Jack strides over to the bed as quickly as he can, and he looks down demandingly at the three boys. " _What_ are you doing?"

Buttons and Elmer flinch at the tone; Finch doesn't. He raises cool gray eyes to meet Jack's, and the hint of exasperation is clear. "Jeez, Jack. Chill out. We's just talkin' to him."

Jack feels his blood crackle with electricity: electricity created by worry, frustration, and protectiveness. "You _can't_ talk to him, Finch! He's known how to sign for all of six hours! Trying to have a conversation will scare him out of his - "

"Jack," Buttons breaks in then, his voice calm and measured too. "Crutchie's smart. He can handle it."

Jack freezes at once, totally still. "Crutchie?"

"What about him?"

"How did you know his name?"

Buttons shrugs. "He told us." Seeing Jack's eyes widen, he's hasty to add, "You know, Jack, he was the one who introduced himself first."

Stunned, Jack turns disbelievingly to the five-year-old huddled on the bed, who has been watching the whole exchange with slightly frightened eyes, unable to comprehend a word of it. When Jack turns on him, he looks up timidly, a starving puppy cowering at the sight of its owner.

Slowly, still shocked, Jack raises his hands. _You signed to them?_ he asks. He knows his signs are jerky and uncomfortable, and he knows the boy is shy. But he is amazed and surprised, and he has to know.

Fearfully, Crutchie nods. Jack's eyes widen in amazement, and he can do nothing but stand there openmouthed, staring blankly at the younger boy. From behind him, he hears a dry laugh.

"Jack, he's smart," Buttons says lightly, though there's a tinge of a reprimand behind his words. "He's really really smart. Let him talk to people!"

"Yeah, but - " Jack stutters, fumbling for an answer. "It's been less than a day! He knows, what, fifty signs? He's smart, Buttons, I got that, but he's gonna be overwhelmed talkin' to _everyone_."

Buttons tilts his head, conceding the point. "He did say he was scared."

Jack is dumbfounded, caught in a moment of unawareness. Again. This tiny five-year-old has managed to put words together, and managed to have a faltery, slow signed conversation with boys he just met. It's - well, it's incredible, and Jack had no idea he would be up for such a task. Buttons smirks at the look on his face, understanding in an instant _exactly_ what's going through the older boy's head.

At that moment, a tiny hand grabs onto Jack's shirt, and he looks down to see Crutchie gazing up at him with desperate eyes. The kid helplessly uses his hands to say " _sign_ " - not a request but a demand. _Sign to me. Tell me what's happening._

Jack sits down slowly next to Crutchie, then hesitates. He chews his lip, thinking of what to possibly say to the boy. But Jack sees the awful tears in the boy's eyes as he struggles to make sense of the world, and the older boy can't do anything but desperately try to interpret.

He settles for simple. " _They're happy to meet you_ ," Jack signs carefully, gesturing at Buttons, Finch, and Elmer. Crutchie looks hesitantly at the boys, and they smile encouragingly at him. Crutchie smiles back, timidly at first; but then it stretches into a face-splitting, lighting up the kid's face.

The entire room is brightened by that look, by that one genuine smile. The other boys grin too, and seeing the looks on their faces, Crutchie's smile broadens and his eyes absolutely glow. It warms Jack's heart beyond expression.

* * *

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is still_ _scared_ _; he is still unsure and timid. But sitting there, watching as the other boys smile kindly at him, he feels another feeling welling up inside of him._

 _He is sure that his emotions are displayed plainly on his_ _face_ _, and when he turns to see_ _J-A-C-K_ _, he can spot the same deep feeling in the older_ _person_ _'s_ _eyes_ _._

 _J-A-C-K_ _reaches up and makes another sign, naming another feeling. As he does so, he holds a hand over_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _'s_ _chest_ _, where the feeling seems to be welling from._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _gasps as_ _J-A-C-K_ _names it._

 _This day has been one of intense emotion. He has been_ _happy_ _,_ _sad_ _,_ _excited_ _,_ _scared_ _. But until now he has never had a_ _sign_ _for the overwhelming feeling of it all. Until now he has never been able to name the emotion that rises inside of him and makes him want to cry, want to hug_ _J-A-C-K_ _, want to smile and laugh and never leave this warm, comforting paradise._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _raises his own_ _hands_ _to sign, to copy the word_ _J-A-C-K_ _just made in the air. And he knows it is perfect the minute he does it. Nothing has ever felt so right._

 _Somehow_ _J-A-C-K_ _has managed to name this internal sense of belonging, this deep passion and_ _happiness_ _. And_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _begins to cry the moment he signs it._

 _Love_ _._

* * *

 **OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO FREAKING ADORABLE AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!**

 **PLEASE leave me a review if you loved this, hated this, or had mixed emotions. I'd love to get to 35 reviews before I post chapter 4! Are you guys up for it?**

 **So you may have noticed that sometimes, "sign" is underlined and sometimes it isn't. If you were really attentive, you may have caught that it's underlined when it's a noun, but not when it's a verb. Just so you guys know!**

 **I'll try to be back quicker, but life is crazy. I'll do my best, though, promise.**

 **(Oh, and last but not least, happy belated National ASL Day! It was last Sunday, April 15.)**

 **Love you all!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I swear I thought this chapter was super short, but then when I word-count-checked it, it turned out to be the longest one yet. Go figure. And, I'm sorry for the wait, but it's been an insane week!**

 **I hope this holds up to your guys' expectations. I wrote most of this during school and I really hope it turned out up to par.**

 **If it did - or if it didn't - or if you have any other commentary, please leave a review! I love reading them so much! A million thanks to Mickey00, Cottonballpoofs, Brighteyes421, unofficialfansie, bexlynne, Kaori-Chan, Les Phansie, Demonwolf, MonstersOfLife, WriteNonstop28, SomedayOnBroadway, Fanz4Life, Jersey09, Kai-Kun, and my guest reviewer for leaving your thoughts on the last chapter. (God, guys. 15 reviews! Please keep it up!)**

 **The next chapter will be a bit shorter, but I'll cut a deal so you guys can get it early. More details at the end! For now, enjoy this one.**

* * *

 _Scared_ _._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _doesn't like the_ _sign_ _, but it's the only one that properly describes how he is feeling. He is not sure what is going on, but he is absolutely certain that it has to do with him._

 _J-A-C-K_ _brought him into this_ _room_ _not long after he woke up._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _has not seen all of the other_ _people_ _yet, but he knows they must be there, somewhere._

 _At one point, an older boy came in, and did the Mouth Thing with_ _J-A-C-K_ _. The whole time, he was staring at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, pointing at him and looking him up and down._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knows the boys were talking about him, but_ _J-A-C-K_ _would not make the_ _signs_ _to tell him what was going on. It only makes_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _even more_ _scared_ _._

 _He cannot do anything but sit there. He doesn't know the words to ask_ _J-A-C-K_ _what is happening._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _just remains in his_ _chair_ _, feeling his good_ _leg_ _tap up and down. His_ _fingers_ _drum on his_ _crutch_ _, a nervous habit. He keeps his gaze steadily on the floor, not looking up for anything._

 _Finally, a movement catches his eye, and he glances up. The_ _door_ _in the_ _wall_ _has opened, and a_ _person_ _has walked through. He is an older boy, even older than_ _J-A-C-K_ _. He reminds_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _of the big boys at the Other Place, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels his muscles tighten. He cringes away from the boy and shies into_ _J-A-C-K_ _, who wraps safe_ _arms_ _around him. It makes_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feel just a tiny bit better._

 _The big boy sits down in a_ _chair_ _across from_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _and smiles._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _cannot return the grin, but he doesn't avert his eyes either. He stares unfalteringly back._

 _The_ _person_ _raises his hands, and shoots off a flurry of signs at him._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _thinks it is a name, but it is too fast for him to catch; and there is something else afterwards, something that zips by before he can process it._

 _He begins to shake. That is a lot. A lot of_ _signs_ _, all one right after another, far too fast; and he cannot understand any of them._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels a tremor wrack his body._

 _He wants to close his_ _eyes_ _and block the world out. He wants to ignore the boy. He wants to bury his_ _head_ _under a_ _pillow_ _and allow darkness to take a hold of him. He wants nothing more in the world._

 _But_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can't do that._

 _The world is a big place. He knows that. And there is no way he'll survive if he can't even try to understand one boy._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _has to do this._

 _Slowly, he raises his_ _hands_ _, seeing them quake in the air in front of him. Slowly, he signs "_ _again_ _". A request. Please sign that again._

 _The_ _person_ _watches him for a minute, and then he smiles._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _lets out a shaky breath of relief. Then the boy begins to sign again, much slower._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can read the_ _signs_ _now._

" _Hello_ _," the boy says, his signs large and precise. "_ _My __name __is __L-O-U-I-S_ _." Again he pauses, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _has time to nod and commit the name to memory._ _L-O-U-I-S_ _. Then_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _signs one more thing, slower this time, and clear enough that_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can read it easily._

" _I'm __happy __to __meet __you_ _," the older boy says slowly, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles. He feels the tension drain from his body, and he is relaxed now, calmer. He can_ _breathe_ _._

 _Next to him,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _sees_ _J-A-C-K_ _stand up and begin to approach_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _, shaking his_ _head_ _, clearly telling the older boy that_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _cannot understand his signs. But_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can. He tugs on_ _J-A-C-K_ _'s_ _shirt_ _, telling the older boy to sit down._ _J-A-C-K_ _and_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _look at each other and do the Mouth Thing quickly; then_ _J-A-C-K_ _sits back down._

 _L-O-U-I-S_ _looks encouragingly at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, and he slowly raises his small __hands_ _to sign back._

" _Hello_ _,_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _,"_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _signs, a bit_ _scared_ _(though not terrified) but trying not to show it. He registers_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s smile, and from that gains the strength to go on._

" _My __name __is __C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _,"_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _says, and then signs, "_ _I'm __happy __to __meet __you too_ _", remembering the word -_ _also_ _or_ _too_ _\- that he picked up from_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _earlier._ _L-O-U-I-S_ _looks even more_ _happy_ _at this. It makes_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E __happy __too_ _._

 _L-O-U-I-S_ _smiles broadly, and makes another_ _sign __C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knows._ _J-A-C-K_ _used it a lot. "_ _Good __job_ _," the older boy says, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _wants to laugh with the euphoria and relief filling him up._

 _L-O-U-I-S_ _makes another_ _sign_ _then, quickly. It is an odd one, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can't understand it at all._ _L-O-U-I-S_ _finishes by pointing directly at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, and he senses that the older boy wants an answer; but he has no idea how to deliver it._

 _So_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _looks up to_ _J-A-C-K_ _, hoping his_ _face_ _conveys his question._ _J-A-C-K_ _nods slightly and smiles at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, then repeats_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s sign a bit slower. It's a simple motion: two thumbs-up pointed together like a bedframe; then one of them rotated forwards._ _J-A-C-K_ _signs slowly and clearly, with the utmost precision, clearly trying to hard to make_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _understand._

 _It doesn't help; it is still a meaningless hand motion._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _begins to feel frustration rising in him, and his right_ _leg_ _starts to kick harshly against the leg of the_ _chair_ _._

 _J-A-C-K_ _puts a_ _hand_ _on his_ _shoulder_ _to steady him, and the older boy's_ _green __eyes_ _are calm and definitive, forcing_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _'s anger to ebb away. Slowly,_ _J-A-C-K_ _repeats_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s sign, then signs in quick succession: "_ _Are __you __happy_ _?_ _Are __you __sad_ _?_ _Are __you __excited_ _?"_

 _Then the sign again._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _breathes hard, trying so hard to put it together, trying with all his might to make sense of it all. But his brain is not clicking. It's not coming together._

 _J-A-C-K_ _turns away from him, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _wilts in disappointment, wishing he could have done better, wishing he could have made_ _J-A-C-K __happy_ _. But he simply can't._

 _J-A-C-K_ _and_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _do the Mouth Thing for a moment, and bitterness creeps into_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _. The Mouth Thing, the thing he can't do. The thing that's wrong with him. He kicks the_ _chair_ _hard, in sheer frustration._

 _But then_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _raises his hands, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can't help but perk up a bit and try to understand. He watches carefully as_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _signs something._

 _It's that stupid mystery_ _sign_ _again, the one_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can't understand, and it makes him want to scream. He feels hot tears burning in his eyes, and he almost struggles to his feet. But then he watches_ _J-A-C-K_ _._

 _J-A-C-K_ _acknowledges_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s_ _sign_ _, and says in reply, "_ _I'm __happy_ _."_

 _Then the_ _sign_ _again; this time, from_ _J-A-C-K_ _. And now it's_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _who seems to reply. "_ _I'm __excited_ _," the older boy says gently, his signs slow and clear and obvious to_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _._

 _It's then that something clicks, two puzzle pieces somehow snap together._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _gasps. The_ _sign_ _is asking how he is feeling, if he is_ _happy_ _or_ _sad_ _. He can understand it. He gasps, and he feels the tickling of a laugh bubbling up from his throat._

 _When_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels a smile on his face, he sees the same grin on_ _J-A-C-K_ _'s and_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s. Finally_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _turns back to_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _and makes the mystery sign again - although it isn't such a mystery now._

" _How __are __you_ _?"_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _asks, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can now raise his_ _hands_ _and reply, "_ _I'm __happy_ _." Carefully, a bit uncertainly, he copies the_ _sign_ _himself, asking the question back to the older boy._

 _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s grin is priceless, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _wishes he could capture it and keep it forever. "_ _I'm __happy_ _,"_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _agrees, and that simple sentence makes_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _almost burst with happiness._

 _Then_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _shoots off a flurry of signs that_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _doesn't understand. But_ _J-A-C-K_ _is there, copying the signs and making absurdly over-the-top gestures, communicating beyond a shadow of a doubt what the words mean. "_ _Are __you __hungry_ _?"_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _asks, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _pauses to memorize the_ _sign_ _before allowing himself to reply "_ _Yes_ _."_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _'s smile widens, and he signs again, this time a_ _sign_ _that_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knows._

" _Let's __eat_ _!"_ _L-O-U-I-S_ _suggests, standing up. Grinning,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _does too, feeling_ _J-A-C-K_ _'s steadying hand on his shoulder as_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _stumbles out of the room on one good leg and one trustworthy wooden_ _crutch_ _._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles even wider, beyond proud of what he's just done; and, looking up, he sees the same look in_ _J-A-C-K_ _'s eyes._

 _J-A-C-K_ _grins down at him. " I love you_ _," the older boy signs, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels his own heart exploding with the same feeling. Feeling somehow more confident, he reaches up and mimics the_ _sign_ _, saying it back._

 _J-A-C-K_ _laughs and hugs him tighter._

* * *

Crutchie is still nervous, sitting at the dinner table with a bunch of rambunctious older boys, but he's loosened up a bit, and Jack loves watching him. The kid introduces himself to everybody else at the table, and they share their own names; Crutchie repeats each boy's name back and seems to memorize them instantly.

Jack can't believe that it's only been a day; that barely twenty-four hours ago, this tiny blonde five-year-old was sobbing in a corner, beyond frustrated by Jack's futile attempts to sign and write to him. And now, look at him, dipping his toes in the ocean of ASL, finally able to talk and communicate. He's one of the most energetic, social kids Jack knows - he just needs to be given the pathway.

Louis sits across from Jack, silently watching with a proud smile on his face as Crutchie holds a slow, faltery conversation with Panther, one of the older newsboys, probably somewhere close to thirteen years old. Jack resists the urge to nudge the older boy and hiss an indignant "I told you so!"; Louis sees the impulse on the younger boy's face, though, and he rolls his eyes amusedly.

The boys are seated at one long rickety wooden table, digging into the bland soup that comes as a part of their daily rent at the Lodging House. At one end of the table, a bunch of the younger boys are roughhousing, somehow managing to spill an entire bowl of beef stew down the front of Specs's shirt; but on the other end, the newsies sit still, talking quietly, gently engaging the five-year-old who has just joined their midst. Louis and Jack sit at the very end, Jack next to Crutchie and Louis next to his second-in-command Sammy. Crutchie's hands have dropped from the air; the younger boy has run out of thoughts to share (or, more likely, the words to express them) and is now looking hesitantly up at Jack.

Jack grins and ruffles his hair; then he turns to Panther. "What'd he say?" Jack demands of the older boy, having missed about half of the so-called conversation and now somehow worried, even though Crutchie clearly isn't upset.

Panther shrugs, a bit taken aback. "I dunno. His name. Uh… he thinks the food is good. Actually, he said the soup did a good job, but I think he means it tastes good. Then… he got shy, I guess. Stopped talkin'."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Probably ran out of signs, Panther," he says, and the other boy nods agreeably.

Jack drops his eyes to Crutchie again, but the little boy is already engaged with Sammy. It's a simple conversation, nothing more than formalities, but Jack can do nothing more than laugh at the sight. The kid has spunk, to be sure, and such an inner desire for comradery and companionship and _conversation_. Jack loves him more than he can put into words.

Eventually, the meager dinner is finished, the last drops of water have been drunk from cups, and the boys have begun to leave the table. Jack looks down at Crutchie to find an uncertain pair of green eyes meeting his. Smiling slightly, Jack signs, " _Are you tired?_ ", yawning obviously so the kid remembers the word.

Crutchie considers a moment, then signs _"yes,"_ his smile a mix between amusement and playful guilt. Jack grins at him, then leaves the table and reaches out a hand to help the kid stand up. Picking up his crutch, the five-year-old follows.

The bunk room is familiar to Crutchie now, and he hobbles over to a bed in the corner without much prompting. Despite the three-hour nap he's taken, Jack can still see a deep exhaustion in the kid's eyes.

It's not long before the boy curls up under the worn blanket he's now resolutely claimed as his and his eyes are wearily blinkling closed. Jack makes sure to show him one more sign before he drifts off, though; again, because he will never be able to say it enough.

 _I love you._

The kid reaches up, forms his hands into the sign, and promptly plunges into sleep.

* * *

 **THREE DAYS LATER**

Crutchie is absolutely terrified, but trying not to show it.

The boy is a good actor, but Jack knows him too well, and he can read every tiny impulse, every flicker of the kid's eyes. He fidgets where he stands, playing with the seam on the new shirt Jack has given him. Jack watches him, the emotions broiling up in the older boy a complete mix of sorrow, excitement, nervousness, and eagerness.

The boys are clustered on the cobblestone street by the distribution desk, coins in hand, chattering amongst themselves. It's a morning like any other, except this time it's different - they've got a deaf five-year-old this time, selling for the first time and scared out of his mind.

Crutchie isn't the youngest newsboy in the posse, but he's close. The smallest is Sniper, barely four but already eager to be out on the streets; but then again, Sniper's older brother was a newsie before he was killed in a freak accident and Sniper has grown up surrounded by newsboys and papers. Crutchie is an entirely different story.

Crutchie has grown up seeing newsboys on the streets, of course, but it's far from the same. The environment is alien to him, and he's frightened. Jack has watched him all morning, as Crutchie has fidgeted nervously, his hands invariably moving to helplessly sign " _Help me. I'm scared_ " or " _I don't want to_ ". Deep down, Crutchie does want to - and both boys know it - but he's terrified of the unknown and doesn't want to go anywhere without Jack.

Jack stays by Crutchie's side the entire time, not letting any of the other newsboys speak with the little boy. Crutchie, too, ignores most of their signs, instead pressing himself further into Jack's side.

It's not long after 8:00 when the wagons pull up to the distribution window and bundles of newspapers are unloaded. With their normal grumbling and griping, the newsies line up in strict hierarchical order: Louis at the front, swiftly followed by Sammy and Panther; Jack is about two-thirds of the way through the line, with a terrified child still huddling at his side.

The headline is mediocre today - it reads _False Alarm Causes 200 to be Evacuated from Town Hall_ , which can of course be twisted (perfectly truthfully) into _200 Flee Town Hall After Fire Alarm_ \- but Jack pays it hardly any mind. Today won't be a fantastic selling day, but his more immediate aim is getting Crutchie into the swing of things with the newsies.

As the boys move closer to the front of the line, closer to the unfamiliar people and the unknown future, Crutchie lets out a whimper and cringes away into Jack, his body suddenly seized by a wracking shiver. Jack just wraps an arm around the little boy, fretting. It's barely been three days - is Crutchie ready to face the world like this? Can he possibly survive a single day as a newsie, unable to hear and barely able to walk? And -

"Hey, kid!" Weisel's rough voice interrupts his mind's racing. "You buyin'? Or are you gonna get outta my line?"

Jack rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm tighter around Crutchie, and drops twenty cents onto the counter. Weisel's rough hand scoops up the coins after barely a second, and Jack lets a stack of forty papers be shoved into his hands by one of the man's henchmen. Then, as fast as he can, he steers Crutchie away from the desk, where the next boy in line - Specs - is now getting his own paper.

Jack bends down and shows Crutchie the stack of papers. _"Forty newspapers,"_ he signs clearly, and Crutchie ponders, thinks a moment, then nods.

" _We sell?"_ he asks, a bit hesitant, his big green eyes trying to hide their nervousness. Jack just signs _"Yes"_ and watches the boy's eyes as he processes the answer; then Jack beckons. _"Come with me,"_ he says, leading Crutchie down a side street to the older boy's typical selling spot.

Crutchie has been outside multiple times in the last few days, but this is his first journey down this particular part of the maze that is Manhattan, and he's a bit fearful (more so than he's already been). Jack keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder, making sure the boy doesn't stumble over any loose cobblestones or broken bottles. Crutchie follows along after him, gripping his crutch much tighter than usual in what Jack suspects is an attempt to stop his hands from shaking.

Soon enough, they emerge onto a busy street; Crutchie winces a bit at the sight of all the different people, but he valiantly shoves down his fear. Jack leads him over to a corner at the intersection of four different streets; then he carefully signs the word _"Watch"_.

Crutchie nods, signs _"yes"_ in agreement, and remains standing quietly on the corner as Jack darts out into the street, the older boy's green eyes already confidently fixed on his first target. He's an older gentleman, hobbling on a cane: the perfect specimen to try some headline-twisting on. Jack runs a hand through his hair, trying to make it look a bit more windswept; then he scrambles up to the man.

"Sir! Have you heard? Two hundred people evacuate the Town Hall after a fire!" Jack exclaims, breathless and panting (half from his sprint across the street and half from calculated theatrics). The man looks up, alarmed, and demands, "How many were killed?"

Jack shrugs. "I dunno, sir, but I'se sure the paper does. Care to - " He's cut off by the man snatching a newspaper from his hand and shoving the first coin (which happens to be a dime) into the boy's fist. Jack's lips curl upwards in a satisfied smile, and he allows himself half a moment to savor the success before he scrambles away, back across the street to where Crutchie has been obediently waiting.

Crutchie's eyes widen when Jack holds up the coin. _"He gave you a dime!"_ the younger boy signs in awe, and Jack laughs, using his hands to agree. _"You must be really good at selling,"_ Crutchie signs, and Jack modestly tilts his head. _"I'm okay."_

Then his features become a bit more serious. _"Now you sell,"_ Jack encourages the kid, his signs gentle and clear. Crutchie freezes, green eyes flooded with fear.

" _It's okay,"_ Jack says gently. _"Walk up to that woman and give her a paper."_ He uses a finger to point out a young lady, somebody who he suspects will be overcome with compassion when faced with a crippled, Deaf five-year-old.

Crutchie looks up, his eyes full of horror that hurt Jack's heart. _"What if she hurts me?"_

" _She won't."_ The sentence pains Jack, but he reassures Crutchie all the same. The woman isn't even twenty, and she has a sweet face. She won't be able to resist giving money to a tiny five-year-old, much less even dream of hurting him.

" _You promise?"_ The helplessness in Crutchie's eyes is unbelievable, and Jack can't do anything but reply, _"I promise."_

Crutchie nods slowly, swallowing hard. _"Go on,"_ Jack tells him, nudging his shoulder. _"Sell her a paper."_

Crutchie is fighting back tears, trying not to hyperventilate, but he only nods slightly and does as Jack asks. He starts stumbling across the cobblestone street as fast as he can, rushing up to the girl, who really can't be more than seventeen.

Jack watches as the kid approaches the girl hesitantly, holding out a paper and looking up with large helpless eyes. The woman looks to be saying something; Crutchie shudders and touches his ear, clearly saying _I can't hear you._ The woman almost breaks, clapping a hand to her mouth; then she takes a paper and hands Crutchie a glittering coin much larger than anything Jack has seen a newsboy get before. Then she strokes his cheek, whispers something to him, and goes on her way.

Crutchie hobbles his way back to Jack, his tears gone and his eyes absolutely stunned. He holds up the coin, and with a jolt of total shock hitting him like lightning, Jack sees that it is a _quarter_ , a full twenty-five cents, the price of fifty papers. In all his years of selling, Jack has never seen a newsie get paid so much before.

" _See! I told you!"_ Jack enthuses, eyes wide with wonder. _"You did great!"_

Crutchie stares. _"She gave me a quarter!"_ he signs, and his hands are trembling.

Jack nods. _"Yes she did."_

And then Crutchie's eyes brighten. _"Can I sell again?"_

Jack's eyes flit over the younger boy, and he laughs. _"Yes!"_ Jack signs enthusiastically, and both boys' lips curl up at the same time. _"You sell to women,"_ Jack advises the younger boy: _"they like you."_

Crutchie nods. His eyes alight on a young lady on the other side of the square, and he points at her, a question in his eyes. Jack nods, and watches as the Deaf boy scurries over and offers out a newspaper. The woman takes a paper and hands over a coin; this time it's just a nickel, but Crutchie's face lights up nonetheless. Two for two.

And before Jack can sign five words to him, he's darted across the street again - this time to approach a woman who's shepherding a boy barely younger than Crutchie across the road. This exchange, of course, produces another dime to be clutched in Crutchie's tiny palm.

With that, Crutchie's confidence is sent soaring, and he's plunging out into the crowds again, waving his newspapers and collecting coins without any prompting from the older boy. It's a drastic change from just ten minutes ago. Jack keeps one eye on Crutchie the entire time, half-expecting the younger boy to run into some trouble from an older boy, an impatient gentleman, or (god forbid) one of the bulls, but the younger boy somehow manages to stay out of trouble as the coins come pouring in.

He's targeting all the right people, too - Jack watches as a girl, barely older than thirteen, takes a paper, presses a dime into his hand, and strokes his cheek gently, clearly saying something to him. This time, Crutchie doesn't correct her, doesn't say that he can't hear; and when he scrambles back to Jack, he's laughing with excitement and relief and signing, _"I love that girl!"_ The older boy giggles himself and agrees.

Jack is waiting for the moment when it will all fall apart, but nothing happens. The boy just _thrives_. He stays bright and cheerful, and his confidence exponentiates every time he successfully sells a paper. After about ten minutes of scrupulously watching the boy, Jack positions himself on a streetcorner, moving to holler the headline (or some variation of it) himself. His invented headlines sell like hotcakes, with pedestrians not able to resist the news of death and trauma that he proclaims the paper holds. Crutchie doesn't stop darting out into the street, and he has yet to make a failed sale.

With Jack's inventiveness and Crutchie's charm, all forty of the boys' papers are sold by slightly after noon, and there's nothing more for the boys to do, despite Crutchie's desire to sell more. Jack can't help but laugh at his eagerness. The boy has sold to every single person he's approached, and the confidence it's induced in him is incredible. He waves cheerily at passers-by, grinning and smiling even if he can't talk to them. It's a far cry from the fearful, shy way he used to curl up when anybody approached him. Jack grins slightly. A little encouragement can go a long way.

" _Well?"_ Jack eventually asks the younger boy, as they make their way back to the Lodging House. _"Did you like that?"_

Crutchie laughs aloud at the absurdity of Jack asking such an obvious question; then he nods emphatically. Jack just slings an arm around the younger boy's shoulder, his fingers playing with the enormous pile of coins that sits in his pocket.

Feeling the clink of the nickels and the dimes and the _quarter_ in his pocket, Jack laughs himself. It's early, they've made far more money than they ever expected, and there's a bakery just around the corner.

" _Have you ever eaten a cookie?"_ Jack signs, and Crutchie slowly shakes his head, unsure what the new sign means.

" _Come on, kid,"_ Jack laughs, and, grinning, the kid follows.

* * *

 _Eight hours, three_ _cookies_ _, and one_ _bowl_ _of_ _soup_ _later,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is curled up on the couch next to_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _, trying to tell the older_ _boy_ _about his day with the few_ _signs_ _he knows. "_ _A __woman __gave __me __a __quarter_ _!" he signs excitedly, and_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _'s_ _eyes_ _widen._

" _A __quarter_ _?" he asks, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _nods._

" _I __was_ _," he starts, and then the word leaves his mind._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _winces a bit, but he looks up at_ _J-A-C-K_ _, hoping the boy will understand what he needs._

 _Of course_ _J-A-C-K_ _does. He raises his hand and shows_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _the_ _sign_ _he has forgotten. "_ _You __were __surprised_ _,"_ _J-A-C-K_ _prompts, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _immediately nods. "_ _I __was __surprised_ _," he tells_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _, who nods understandingly._

" _I __am __surprised __too_ _!" the boy signs, then smiles._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles_ _as well_ _._

" _I __like selling_ _,"_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _says eagerly, feeling his_ _hands_ _flash in the_ _air_ _. " First __I __was __scared_ _._ _Then __I __was __happy_ _."_

 _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _smiles at him. "_ _You __did __a __very __good __job_ _," he says._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _raises his hands to say "_ _Thank_ _you_ _," and_ _B-U-T-T-O-N-S_ _signs an appreciative "_ _You're __welcome_ _." Then he asks: "_ _You __will __sell __tomorrow_ _,_ _right_ _?"_

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles and signs, "_ _Yes_ _." Of course he will_ _sell __tomorrow_ _. How could he not? It is fun, and he gets to be with_ _J-A-C-K_ _, and he made_ _two __dollars_ _and_ _fifteen __cents_ _._ _J-A-C-K_ _told him so._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is sure that he will_ _sell __newspapers_ _every day for as long as he can._

* * *

All in all, the day has gone a million times better than Jack ever expected it to. Crutchie has dived in to the world of the newsboys headfirst, and he's embraced it faster than anybody thought he would. He made over $2 - more than double the normal price of papers - and came out of his shell more than he had in the last three days combined.

Now, Jack and Louis are sitting on the couch with Panther, Sammy, and Elmer, watching as Crutchie talks with Buttons and Specs about his day. The older boys are gentle and patient, engaging with him and making him laugh - and they break into giggles themselves on more than one occasion.

As Crutchie is falteringly recounting a heroic tale in which he managed to get a dime from a young lady even though her father didn't want her to buy a paper, Louis reaches out and jovially ruffles Jack's hair. "Well, Jackie-boy, I guess you were right," he admits laughingly. "He's a smart one indeed."

Jack grins. "Told'ja so, Louis." The boys laugh.

"He's fit right in, too," Sammy comments. "Seems like he's always been here."

"Got a good spirit," Louis agrees. "He's definitely one of us."

Jack sinks back on the couch, that sentence hitting him hard. _Crutchie's definitely one of us._ Jack can't put into words how powerful that was, but it is wonderful to hear.

"He's gonna be a great newsie," Sammy replies lightly. "Heck, he made $2 today, he already is!"

"Playin' the pity card," Panther comments, but it's all in good fun - and they all know it's true. They laugh and agree, with Sammy commenting, "Hey, he can do it better than any of us."

At that point, Crutchie looks over and makes eye contact with Jack. With wide eyes and slow hands, he signs _"I'm tired."_

Jack smiles and gets up, walking over to the other boy and helping him to his feet. _"Let's go to bed,"_ he signs carefully, and Crutchie nods, emphatically agreeing.

As Jack leads the younger boy out of the room, he can't see the Manhattan leader's impressed, deeply proud smile - but he can certainly feel it, radiating like sun on his back.

* * *

 **They - are - adorable!**

 **Okay, so here's the deal. I will post the next chapter the moment we get to 50 total reviews on this story. (That or next Friday – whichever comes first!) So get those reviews in, guys, if you want to see it soon!**

 **Okay, so in this chapter I used the word "hierarchical". I wanted to find the adjective form of "hierarchy", so I googled a couple possible variations, including "heirological". Heirological was promptly defined for me by Merriam-Webster Online as "symbiote charlatan lowlife kakistocracy". If any of you have any idea what any of that means, please tell me in a review!**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I'll be back on Monday or Friday with a new update. It's up to you guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

**You guys, I am so sorry. Life happened. High school happened. I know I'm not back when I'd like to be, but I'm here just the same.**

 **Yesterday I had four tests, including one enormous state test (ninety minutes; our graduation is contingent upon passing it. AAAH!) and my brain was just fried. I had the chapter written but just couldn't post it. So I spent today tweaking and editing, and I'm proud to present you with this finished product!**

 **This is a short chapter, but it's really sweet. (Except for, like, the last three paragraphs). Next chapter starts to get a bit more intense, although there's still plenty of adorable little Crutchie. Don't worry!**

 **I decided there were enough questions / things I wanted to reply to that I'm going to do separate reviewer replies. Here you go!**

 **Queenlmno: Aww, isn't Crutchie adorable? I love him! Thank you so much for reading – please keep leaving reviews!**

 **Unofficialfansie: I'm sorry for the wait, but here you go! Plenty more cute fluff in this chapter, for your enjoyment!** **I hope you like this one.**

 **Bexlynne: What do I say anymore? I need to PM you back but life's been crazy. Thank you so much for the constant reviews! Yeah, I've heard several of the words ("symbiote charlatan lowlife kakistocracy") individually before, but who knows what happens when you put them together? Insanity. Thanks for all your encouragement. I love you!**

 **Brighteyes421: Good luck learning ASL! I know hardly any myself, but I'm trying to learn. You'll be great at it! And Crutchie's POV is awesome! It's organically evolved so much since the first chapter. School's been insane, but it should get better next week. We're all done with testing now!  
**

 **MindAboveMadness: Thanks so much! "Teaching" Crutchie signs is difficult, but it's adorable too! Thank you for your wonderful reviews!**

 **Demonwolf: I am so glad to see your constant reviews. I'm sorry, I know it's been awhile, but … high school. I love reading your writing and your comments on mine. Thanks a million**

 **Les Phansie: Yes! Aren't they so cute! I love them so much. And Crutchie is adorable when he learns something new! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.**

 **SomedayOnBroadway: You… are amazing. Thank you so much. And thanks for the ASL lesson. So I'm trying something new this chapter: I'm underlining phrases instead of words. Because, like, you're right, it doesn't make sense to just plain underline "is," but it would look super awkward to write "** **What** **is** **your** **name** **?" So I'm underlining phrases ("** **What is your name** **?") because that is what Crutchie understands and thinks of. Hopefully that'll help. Let me know! Please keep reading and reviewing. I love you so much!**

 **Ava: You have no idea how honored I am to get your review. Thank you so much! It sounds like you've faced some tough obstacles, but you're super strong and brave. I'm sorry you can't sing, but hey, you can still love musicals! Thank you so much for your review; it made my entire day! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please keep reviewing!**

 **Cottonballpoofs: The new way of teaching Crutchie signs kinda just evolved. I didn't try to do it. But it's turned out well! Thank you so much for your reviews! Please keep reading!  
**

 **Hilly: Thank you so much!**

 **Kaori-chan: You're awesome! Thanks! Please keep reading and reviewing!**

 **Buxy: Thanks so much. Newsies is amazing! Now, Deaf vs deaf. Deaf, capitalized, generally refers to people who are "culturally deaf," or who are hard-of-hearing and embrace the Deaf community and lifestyle. People who are deaf (lowercase) may not hear, but they aren't part of the culture the same way. I've seen Deaf more respectfully, so that's what I went for. We'll see how it evolves.**

 **OK, this is shorter, but the next one, I promise, will be long. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **THREE WEEKS LATER**

Crutchie glances up at Jack, reading the older boy's face with perfect accuracy as he rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his hands. _"The headline's that bad?"_ the Deaf boy asks in disbelief, and Jack can only nod. _"What's it say?"_

Jack leans dispiritedly against the wrought-iron gate in front of him. _"Traffic,"_ he signs, and Crutchie makes a face. Jack chuckles wryly, despite his frustration. _"I know. Who wants to buy a paper with nothing more than they can see with their own two eyes?"_

Crutchie laughs. _"It will be hard to sell,"_ he comments, as if warning Jack; the older boy can only nod. _"Yeah,"_ he says, _"I'm only going to get thirty papers."_

Crutchie's eyebrows raise. _"Thirty? You can usually sell fifty, sometimes seventy!"_

In response, Jack gestures at the headline, his mouth open in mock outrage: How do you expect me to sell seventy papes with a headline like this?

Crutchie grins and nods, conceding the point. _"You can sell better than me."_

" _Yes, I can,"_ Jack signs, playfully thrusting his nose into the air; Crutchie giggles slightly, but the sound is unnatural and choked. Jack runs a hand through the younger boy's hair, and he smiles.

By that time, the boys are near the front of the line, and Crutchie is fishing coins out of his pocket; Jack grins at him. The older boy steps up to the window then, his eyes firm on Weisel's pinched face. He looks down at the kids scrutinizingly; Jack fights the urge to scoff.

"I'll take thirty," he says out loud, slapping down three nickels.

Weisel raises his eyebrows. "Only thirty, Kelly? Has reality somehow wormed its way into your inflated head?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "Maybe if you'd give me a better headline, I'd find a way to bring you some more cash."

Weisel just shakes his head and puts a hand on Jack's shoulder, shoving him forwards (although not nearly as hard as he could if he were trying to hurt the boy).

Jack collects his papers, counts them for good measure, then sits down to watch Crutchie. The boys still sell together, but Crutchie transitioned to buying his own papers a few days ago - something he was incredibly eager to do.

Jack just laughs as he watches Crutchie, who's busy talking to Weisel's assistant Danny - the only one of the distribution employees fluent in ASL. The boy has a certain spunk, a certain charm - and Jack can't quite describe it, but he loves it all the same.

* * *

" _Good __morning_ _!"_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E __signs __cheerfully_ _as he places_ _ten __cents_ _on the_ _counter_ _._

 _D-A-N-N-Y __smiles_ _down at him. "_ _Good __morning_ _,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E. __How are you_ _?"_

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _grins. "_ _I'm __good_ _,_ _thank you_ _._ _How are you_ _?"_

 _D-A-N-N-Y_ _is about to answer when_ _W-E-I-S-E-L_ _comes up to him, nudges him, and_ _says_ _something to him,_ _talks_ _to him. (That is what the Mouth Thing is really called,_ _talking_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is still bewildered by the idea of_ _talking_ _, but he tries not to think about it too much.)_ _D-A-N-N-Y_ _rolls his_ _eyes_ _, but_ _smiles_ _, and says, "_ _I'm good. __How many __papers __would you like __today_ _?"_

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _smiles. "_ _Twenty __papers_ _,_ _please_ _," he says, gesturing towards the_ _money_ _he has already set down._ _D-A-N-N-Y_ _nods and takes the_ _nickels_ _. He_ _says_ _something to one of the other_ _men_ _, who starts counting out_ _papers_ _for_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _walks down, takes the newspapers from him, and_ _smiles_ _. The_ _man_ _just stares at him; but then, ever so slightly, his_ _lips_ _curl into a grudging_ _smile_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _feels his smile widen, glad to have made somebody else even a little_ _happy_ _; then he heads off to_ _stand_ _with_ _J-A-C-K_ _._

 _J-A-C-K __smiles_ _at him,_ _signing_ _"_ _Good __job_ _!"_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _scoffs and rolls his_ _eyes_ _modestly. "_ _It __was __easy_ _."_

" _It __was __hard_ _._ _You're __just __good at it_ _,"_ _J-A-C-K_ _corrects, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _shakes his head. His_ _cheeks_ _feel_ _warm_ _in a way he hasn't felt before._

" _Where __do __you __want_ _to sell __today_ _?"_ _J-A-C-K_ _asks, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _considers that for a moment. Then he says, "_ _Maiden Street_ _?_ _I_ _like_ _it_ _there_ _."_

 _J-A-C-K_ _thinks, then_ _nods_ _in agreement. "_ _Come on_ _!" he beckons. "_ _Let's_ _go_ _!"_

 _Just like_ _J-A-C-K_ _predicted, business that day - even on_ _Maiden_ _\- is_ _slow_ _._ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can get by with his natural charm, with what_ _J-A-C-K_ _calls his "_ _cuteness_ _," but the older_ _boy_ _is having trouble_ _selling_ _more than_ _a dozen_ _or so_ _newspapers_ _. The_ _headline_ _is awful, and even he can't come up with ways to half-truthfully "improve" it. And at almost ten years old, he's far too old to sell based on pity._

 _By the time the_ _12:00 __bell __rings_ _,_ _J-A-C-K_ _still has_ _sixteen_ _papers left;_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _has_ _nine_ _. They use some of their_ _money_ _to buy_ _bread_ _from a nearby_ _bakery_ _. (_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knows that_ _J-A-C-K_ _doesn't shy away from stealing_ _food_ _, but_ _J-A-C-K_ _is strictly well-behaved around the_ _younger __boy_ _and has no idea that_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knows this.) They eat motionless for a while, before_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _spots a pretty eleven-year-old_ _girl_ _on the other side of the square, grabs a_ _newspaper_ _, and makes his way over towards her with a_ _smile_ _and a_ _wink_ _at_ _J-A-C-K_ _._

 _He stumbles, his_ _crutch_ _making him_ _trip_ _a couple times; but he's gotten much better and faster maneuvering his way through the streets. And he's found that most_ _adults_ _don't move as fast as they could, and they certainly don't move as fast as a brave,_ _determined_ _five-year-old. Maybe he's taking a risk moving so fast, but for_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, it's a risk worth taking._

 _The_ _girl_ _and her_ _mother_ _stop to look in a_ _store __window_ _, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _has time to make the last few strides over to them. He takes a_ _breath_ _, then reaches out and taps the_ _girl_ _on her_ _shoulder_ _._

 _She whirls around, and he arranges his_ _face_ _into an expression of pleading helplessness. The_ _girl_ _'s_ _face_ _breaks. Her_ _eyes_ _fill with_ _tears_ _, and she tugs on her_ _mother_ _'s_ _sleeve_ _and_ _says_ _something. The_ _mother_ _signs and_ _talks_ _to the_ _girl_ _, her face strict and reprimanding. But the_ _girl_ _looks up and begs, pointing at_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _and holding out a hand._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _fights back a smirk. The_ _girl_ _is taking pity on him, because she thinks he's poor. Ironically, __C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is far from destitute - simply because people give him money because they think he is. It's a bizarre paradox, but one __C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _is fully prepared to exploit for as much_ _money_ _as he can._

 _The_ _girl_ _'s_ _mother __sighs_ _,_ _says_ _something (to which the_ _girl __nods_ _), and takes out a_ _nickel_ _. She passes it to the_ _girl_ _, who passes it to_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _, who lets his_ _eyes_ _widen in mock surprise. He takes the_ _money_ _, hands the_ _girl_ _a_ _newspaper_ _, and then readjusts his weight on his_ _crutch_ _and makes his way back across the square to_ _J-A-C-K_ _. He tosses the_ _nickel_ _to the older boy, who signs "_ _Good job_ _!" and hands him another piece of_ _bread_ _._

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E __smiles_ _. "_ _Thanks_ _,_ _J-A-C-K_ _."_ _J-A-C-K_ _only nods, swallows his own_ _food_ _, and stands up._

* * *

 _The rest of the_ _day_ _passes easily enough. The_ _headlines_ _that_ _J-A-C-K __yells_ _get progressively more bizarre as the afternoon wears on. They go from_ _carriage __crashes_ _to fires to murders, and only near the end of the inventive_ _headlines_ _do the papes really begin to sell._

 _It's almost_ _three o'clock_ _by the time they're_ _done_ _\- pathetic, really, considering they had only_ _fifty __papers_ _between them. Regardless, though, the_ _papes_ _are gone, the_ _money_ _is_ _in_ _their_ _pockets_ _, and they can go back to the_ _Lodging House_ _for a well-deserved rest._

 _All in all, it has been a pretty good_ _day_ _._

* * *

The conversation at the dinner table that night is almost entirely in ASL, as it has been for several days now. Even the boys not talking to Crutchie sign back and forth - half to increase their fluency (which many of them desperately need help with), half to make sure the little boy can understand whatever they're saying - an astonishingly sweet gesture that Jack hadn't anticipated. The silence is supplemented, of course, by verbal speech and (most prominently) by laughter - as when Elmer mixes up the signs for _brown_ and _beer_ and twists the story he's telling in a way none of the newsboys anticipated - but for the most part, Crutchie can understand it all.

And understand it he is. Jack just watches as the younger boy's eyes sweep across the crowd, picking out words and phrases he knows and following entire conversations. Most of the boys' signs are slow, anyways - they're nowhere near fluent - and Crutchie has soaked up signs in the last few weeks like a sponge soaks up water.

Eventually the boys disperse; Louis has told them to go to sleep, but every single boy in the Lodging House knows that that's the last thing they'll be doing in the bunk room. Pillow fights, card games, and hide-and-seek are generally prevalent every night. Several of the boys don't even try to pretend - Jack and Crutchie among them. Despite being so young, Crutchie can get away with more than most of the boys; Louis has taken a liking to him, and nobody can bring themselves to tell him no.

By the time a churchbell rings, signaling ten o'clock, some of the littles have finally fallen asleep. But Jack still sits with Louis and Sammy and Panther and Specs and Crutchie in what passes as a living room in the Lodging House. That night, another word worms its sly way into Crutchie's vocabulary. Jack has long since given up formally teaching him, but words are everywhere, and Crutchie's thirst is unmatchable.

Panther and Sammy are sitting side-by-side when one boy murmurs something to the other, and Panther is flung back onto the back of the chair, his body wracked with hysterics. He's laughing so hard that his body shakes and trembles, and tears stream down his cheeks. The other newsies start laughing at him, and soon the whole room is submerged in guffaws and giggles and tears.

Throughout it all, Crutchie sits still, a bit bewildered. And after several minutes, once the gales have somewhat subsided, he tugs on Jack's sleeve and asks, _"What was that?"_

Jack, his face still frozen in a grin and tears still trickling down his cheeks, just signs _"laugh"_ , giving a word to the sensation Crutchie has seen plenty of times but never been able to describe. And the younger boy smiles happily and nods, quietly tucking the word into his memory.

But Jack isn't happy with that. Suddenly wracking his brains, he cannot remember a single time that Crutchie has really laughed, really done anything more than giggle slightly at something funny. Even those giggles are choked and cut off. As far as Jack knows, Crutchie has never really, truly laughed.

So he reaches over and attacks Crutchie's stomach with lightning-quick, tickling fingers. And Crutchie falls back into the couch, doubling over, swatting at Jack's hands, and _laughing_ , laughing over and over again, enormous, oxygen-deprived gales of laughter that cover the entire room. It's the first time any of them have heard him laugh, and they all gasp and smile at the sound. It's light and airy and innocent and free, and it brightens the room, somehow transforming the stark white moonlight trickling in from the windows into a radiant golden sunshine.

" _Laugh,"_ Jack signs over and over again, his light fingers not leaving the boy's stomach, following him as the kid spasms around on the couch, shaking with laughter. _"Laugh."_

Tears break through and stream down Crutchie's cheeks now as well, as he flounders, laughing and crying and pawing playfully at Jack's hands. And he keeps _laughing_ , keeps crying out his guffaws and giggles, and Jack swears he has never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

Eventually he lets up on his tickling, and Crutchie, with tears of mirth still flooding from his eyes, curls in on himself as the giggles slow. Eventually he manages to pull himself upright, and then he can copy Jack's sign: _"laugh"._ He does it with an openmouthed, ecstatic smile: a smile that says so clearly, _I don't care what the world thinks of me right now. This is what I think about the world_. It is ecstasy, it is joy, it is wonder and awe and love, and Crutchie just giggles as he signs the word again.

" _I like to laugh,"_ Crutchie signs genuinely, his eyes still watery but his breathing slowly returning to normal. Jack grins. _"Me too,"_ he says. _"All of us do."_

" _I want to laugh more,"_ Crutchie says, and Jack only giggles at that.

" _You will, Crutchie,"_ he promises. _"You will."_

* * *

 **SIX DAYS LATER**

" _J-A-C-K_ _!" He stumbles his way up to the older_ _boy_ _eagerly. "_ _I __sold __sixteen_ _!"_

 _J-A-C-K_ _'s_ _eyes __widen_ _. "_ _Sixteen_ _?" he repeats in disbelief. "_ _In __the __last half-hour_ _?"_

 _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _nods eagerly. He is still not_ _selling __alone_ _, but he has taken to going a_ _block_ _or so down from_ _J-A-C-K_ _and targeting a different crowd. Apparently, it is working: he has sold_ _sixteen_ _papers in_ _thirty __minutes_ _, a new record for him._

" _You're __a regular newsboy __now_ _,_ _aren't __you_ _?"_ _J-A-C-K_ _signs playfully, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _knocks his_ _hand_ _in the air over and over again:_ _yes_ _, he is._

" _You're doing so well_ _,"_ _J-A-C-K_ _tells_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _. "_ _I'm proud of you_ _."_

 _Those last_ _signs_ _are somewhat new - he has never learned them formally - but_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _can piece it together, and he_ _smiles_ _,_ _tears_ _threatening at the corners of his_ _eyes_ _. "_ _Thank you_ _," he_ _signs_ _, a bit breathlessly, and_ _J-A-C-K_ _grins._

" _I love you_ _,_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _," he says, and_ _C-R-U-T-C-H-I-E_ _just signs it back._

" _I love you_ _,_ _J-A-C-K_ _."_

* * *

If only that day could have lasted forever.

If only time could have frozen in that moment; if only the boys could relive that day over and over again.

But Crutchie had been too successful lately, had smiled too much, had done too well. The world wasn't going to let him get away with that. No, the universe had too much animosity towards the little boy, too much pain in store for him. The universe would not allow him to learn ASL fluently and then sail through life, a far cry from the injured, deprived, abandoned boy he had been a month ago. The world would take him and hurt him and make him struggle, even after he had done so much to pull himself out of the torture of that past life.

No matter what happened, Crutchie was sure he would be okay as long as Jack was right there by his side.

But the world works in cruel ways.

* * *

 **Jesus Christ, apparently I can't do subtle foreshadowing or cliffhangers, because that was quite possibly the most explicit, shove-it-down-your-throat foreshadowing ever written in the history of fanfiction. Fanfic's weird, though, isn't it? Because you post one chapter at a time, you end it in places and with endings you wouldn't if you were publishing it in complete novel form.**

 **Anyways, please read and review. I love you guys so much! Sorry for the shortness, but chapter 6 will be AWESOME. We got up to 15 reviews last time and I would love to see that again! Thanks so much!**

 **See you later! Have an awesome day and week!**


End file.
